


A Christmas Retail Story

by rlnerdgirl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Christmas, Crushes, Derek grudgingly works at Macy's, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Stiles is a shopper, awkwardly adorable, i.e. is forced by Laura, it's Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 08:03:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rlnerdgirl/pseuds/rlnerdgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek likes to spend his downtime between book contracts doing something calming, relaxing, and just for him. Unfortunately, this holiday season his sister has other things in mind, which is how he finds himself working in the women's department at Macy's. He might, just a little bit (or maybe a lot), want to kill himself. Or Laura.</p><p>The one reprieve he gets is Stiles, the only customer who knows exactly what he wants each and every time he pops in, complete with item number and size. Derek may or may not be developing a crush on him. So it's too bad all Stiles buys are ridiculously expensive things that are, most likely, for his extremely lucky girlfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Christmas Retail Story

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to:
> 
> (Tumblr) **Sick Day Drabble Prompt:** Derek works in women's retail. Laura sends her assistant Stiles to buy her random things so the two can meet. Derek later sees Laura wearing the hat/socks/whatever Stiles bought. Your choice on reaction.

Sometimes Derek hates his life.

 

Now, being an opportune example.

 

Or, most specifically and inclusively, when Laura successfully manages to twist his arm and get him to believe, for period of time lasting from ten seconds to a number of weeks, that her four year gain on him lends itself to infinite wisdom and she does, actually, know best and have good ideas.

 

How she manages to come up with these things, specifically, when he is having a momentary lapse in judgment and memory, that blocks him from recalling the last time he allowed her to make life choices for him, he's not sure. He's half convinced it's a mutant super power. If anyone were to become a real life mutant, the first of the X-Men, it would be Laura Hale.

 

That, however, is beside the point. The point being Laura and her misguided ideas for how he should be spending his down time between book contracts.

 

How it takes him a full week before he realizes working women's retail at Macy's during the holidays is the worst idea in all of existence, he is, again, not quite sure. By all accounts he's a relatively astute person, intelligent, college graduate, makes good money, capable of smart investments, but apparently that has nothing on him when it comes to taking Laura's advice, because he goes through the entire process (well, not the entire process, Laura knows someone, so it was really just an interview and then paperwork), and a week of actually working before it dawns on him.

 

The slow and horrible realization that he absolutely, completely, without a doubt, hates his life right now.

 

Thank God all Derek does is sit behind a cash register, and even that lends itself to too much customer interaction for him to be comfortable with. Good God, he hopes Laura doesn't ask random men at the mall whether or not chartreuse or emerald goes better with her eyes. Why these women think he has an inclining, he has no idea. Usually he just vaguely nods and murmurs "yes" and "no" when he assumes they're appropriate and things work out.

 

What is further unnerving, is the way things have picked up. Not just in the normal holiday traffic sense, telling of the time of year, but in a sense that Derek is very sure has to do specifically with him and his manager's placement of his work station. Seven days ago, a Wednesday, he begrudgingly rung up seven customers his entire shift. Today, another Wednesday, he has been, to his dismay almost consistently busy.

 

He has come to hoard his breaks, rushing off to the back break room and sitting in a chair, in the corner, nose shoved in a book, emitting an air of, 'I want to break the neck of the next person who speaks to me,' which is either unnecessary or works really well, because nobody bothers him.

 

After his lunch there's a short reprieve. Apparently his being gone for thirty minutes leads to disappointed women who then move on, and it takes another thirty to forty-five for the female populace of Macy's to find out he's back on. During this thirty to forty-five minutes, like the rest of his work day, Derek wonders why, exactly, he doesn't just quit.

 

Laura, as always, is the answer. The way she will judgmentally stare at him every week when she comes over for lunch, and, no doubt, with this being retail and holidays and related to a friend, gripe about how he's put her friend in a bad spot until he feels guilty and drags himself back with all the pleasure of crawling over broken glass.

 

Today, however, this particular Wednesday, he normal thirty to forty-five minute reprieve is broken by the appearance of a narrow, bordering on gangly, man who has mastered the art of casual-class through layers, brought down a little on the class level by his buzzed hair and loose grin. It's not completely strange to see a man in the women's department, especially around the holidays, typically asking questions that Derek can't answer and becoming irritated when he has to direct them to a female employee.

 

Derek likes breasts just as much as the next guy--well, okay, maybe not quite as much, but he likes them--but he's as lost as any other typical male at translating loose gestures into women's dress sizes.

 

"Hey there!" Avengers, the guy is wearing a green Avengers shirt under his open plaid flannel and, what Derek recognizes to be, a relatively expensive jacket, greets. His eyes flicker to the nametag Derek is wearing. "So, Derek, I need some help." He stops at the counter and sets to digging something out of a pocket, and, moments later, unveils a folded piece of paper. "I have a product number and size, just need find it."

 

As much as Derek hates his life right now, and as much as he hates people, and as much as he hates Macy's and retail and the women's department and customers, he might, just a tiny bit, love this man. He holds out his hand and Avengers hands over the paper, which happens to be a note-card, without pause and Derek turns his attention to the computer.

 

"God damned. This must be, and I'm sorry if this is just rubbing salt in the wound or something, the shittiest time to work here." Despite Avengers' words, he doesn't actually sound all that sorry, but Derek can forgive him, partially, because (a) it's the truth, and (b) there is a product number and size written in chicken scratched, but clearly legible, handwriting in front of him. "I worked at Williams-Sonoma a few Christmases back when I was in college and damn, damn, do I never want to do that again. People are flipping crazy. Though, you know, preaching to the choir and all that, right?"

 

Silence.

 

Derek glances from the computer screen, where the picture of a beautiful red silk dress with black lace has popped up in response to the product number, to realize Avengers is waiting for a response. Another second passes, Avengers starts to look a little nervous, and Derek nods. "Yes."

 

"Right. Right." Avengers' grin is back full force, he nods a little, confidence regained.

 

"It's a dress," Derek continues, holding up the note-card for reference. "I'll go get it."

 

"Right," Avengers repeats, and when Derek has started to walk away, shouts, "Thanks!"

 

When he comes back with the dress there's a line of four women behind Avengers, who is leaning on the counter, dare Derek say, nearly sprawled, tapping his fingers to a beat only he can hear. The women perk up at the sight of Derek, bustling and preening, while Avengers just looks up, rolls his eyes, and pulls himself up like a doll attempting to stand without strings. "Oh my God, thank you," he groans. "I don't know what I would have done if you didn't have it."

 

Derek is inclined, actually, to say something alone the lines of, 'No problem,' but the stark reality is that if he shows kindness to Avengers in front of the women, they'll expect the same, and he's managed to get by being stiff and wooden and a little distantly disgusted because he's never shown he acts any different. So he just gives a wooden nod, rings the dress up, and says, "Three-hundred-seventy-two and twenty-six cents."

 

As he hands over a gold card, Avengers raises an eyebrow at him but doesn't comment.

 

The name on the gold card is strange and Derek's not all that sure he can pronounce it, but the last name is Stilinski, which is still strange, but something he can pronounce and remember. He slides the card, hands it and the receipt over, slides a protector over the dress, and ties the bottom. When he looks up again Stilinski is waiting, watching with bird-like attentiveness, but when Derek hands the dress over, wordless, he breaks out another impressive grin. "Thanks a million. You really did save me," and then he walks away.

 

Avengers, or Stilinski, and Derek almost has a metacognitive process over remembering the man's name but manages to shut it down before it gains any momentum, comes back three days later with another product number and another size. This time it's gloves. Black lambskin with a mink lining. They cost more than the dress did and Derek really wonders what this guy does for a living, because whatever it is, he doesn't dress like he can afford four hundred dollar gloves.

 

Or two hundred fifty dollar shoes. Doubt it, Derek doesn't sell him the shoes, he has to send Stiles--who introduced himself during the leather gloves sale, casual like, just laughed when he saw Derek working again, shot his hand over the counter and said, "I'm Stiles, by the way," as though it mattered, and Derek tried, and still does, to ignore that he thinks it might--to the shoe department, but he looks the product number up on the computer and that's how they find out their shoes.

 

The fourth time Stiles comes in he's laughing as soon as he rounds the corner and sees Derek, pre-lunch shift, mobbed by women. The glimmer of hope that sparks in Derek at the sight of him, dies as Stiles shakes his head, turns around, and walks back the way he came. Missing his sale to Stiles and the strange one-sided conversations they've been having and, what Derek thinks might be flirting on Stiles' part, sours his already spoiled mood. That he holds out until his relief comes fifteen minutes later without shouting at the women around him is a minor miracle.

 

It's been two weeks since Stiles started showing up with his folded note-cards containing product numbers and sizes, and Derek's urge to flirt back with Stiles, who always wears a smile and a laugh on hand, is curbed only by the fact that Stiles is ordering women's clothes that clearly don't fit him--and, okay, that might curb his urge too--and are thus, most probabilistically, for a girlfriend.

 

Because men don't buy sisters or mothers nine hundred dollar leather and fur lined coats.

 

It's the twenty third and, thankfully, Derek has the twenty-fourth through the twenty-seventh off, the only smart demand he made before this whole horrific retail experience, when Stiles comes in again. The product number is for a hat that just came in the night before and is ludicrously expensive, though, considering what he's been purchasing, Derek shouldn't find all that shocking. Stiles is the only one in the department because, despite it being the twenty-third, Derek still has a thirty-minute reprieve of customers after lunch and Stiles has, Derek thinks, become observant of this.

 

"So, any special holiday plans?"

 

Derek shrugs as he takes longer than strictly necessary to ring up the hat. "I spend the holidays with my sister. You?"

 

"My dad's coming out this year. Normally I go home, but I've finally convinced him to experience a true New York Christmas. I tried to explain that he shouldn't come, you know, on the Eve, because travel is going to be a bitch, but he's the Sheriff in a small town, and even though he loves me," Stiles shrugs, but it's more like a preening puff at some kind of inside joke that Derek doesn't get, "he still refuses to be gone for more than, like, three days."

 

A mom isn't mentioned and Derek doesn't ask, mainly because, if he does, then he's giving the all clear to let Stiles to ask about the rest of his family that he hasn't mentioned, and he doesn't want to drag down Stiles' light-heartedness and holiday cheer with statements about dead families. He settles with, "That sounds nice."

 

Stiles nods, "Oh yeah. I think I'll enjoy getting the time off more though. I mean, God, I've been running around like crazy recently. This whole shopping thing," he makes a vague motion toward the hat and Derek and the entire department, or maybe mall, "it's not on my normal list of things, you know? I'm usually pretty busy and this takes a surprising amount of time." He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "I will be so happy when this stupid holiday thing is over."

 

Derek nods, because, yes, he understands that sentiment, even though he's not sure why having the holidays be over will affect Stiles' purchases of extravagant things for his girlfriend.

 

"Here." Stiles hands the all to familiar gold card over before Derek can even ask. "Okay, so," he says, signing the receipt and passing it over before pocketing the card. In his back pocket. Not even in a wallet.

 

How the guy still has it is beyond him.

 

"Good luck surviving the rest of the day and whatnot, and I hope you have a good time with your sister." He grins, taking the bag from Derek. "And maybe I'll see you around. Merry Christmas, Derek."

 

Derek nods. "Merry Christmas," he parrots.

 

And Stiles is gone.

 

Christmas Eve comes with a Christmas party. Derek gets invited to plenty of parties, but the only one he ever goes to is the one Laura drags him to, which is her firm's gathering when she doesn't have a date.

 

This year, she doesn't have a date.

 

Saunders and Saunders is one of the most prestigious PR and Marketing firms in New York, which mainly means Derek has to dress to the nines, and because Laura doesn't trust him to do that, Derek comes home the evening of the twenty-third to two packages at the front desk. A dark gray, three piece Armani suit, dark red collared shirt, and shoes. It looks like the least comfortable thing he will have worn since two years ago, the last time he attended one of Saunders and Saunders' parties.

 

The next day he's proven correct, though it does allow for some more range of motion than the last suit Laura had gotten him, which says she at least loves him enough to pay attention to him. On occasion.

 

A town car picks him up at eight, and when the driver comes out and opens the back door for him Laura is already inside, but it's not until he slides into the back seat and looks across at her that he notices what she's wearing. It takes him some time to actually process it though. The red satin dress with black lace, the leather coat and gloves, the ridiculously expensive shoes and hat. He feels his features hardening and the frown pulling at his lips though he's not quite sure why he's feeling angry.

 

"I thought you said you didn't have a boyfriend." It comes out harsher than intended and his tone startles her a bit, making her blink a few times, eyes widening.

 

"What-" She pauses, glances down at herself, and when she looks up a smile is pulling at her lips. "Oh." She laughs and Derek kind of wants to punch her.

 

In a completely brotherly way that is not, like, sibling abuse.

 

Or maybe is, a little bit.

 

God he hates his life right now.

 

"You mean Stilinski?" She laughs a little louder. "Oh my God. Stilinski." And continues laughing.

 

Derek's frown deepens, his brow furrows. "What's wrong with Stiles?" He hates himself a little bit for how indignant he sounds. It's not as bad as how offended he feels on Stiles' behalf though, which is something he's just going to ignore for the time being.

 

Laura's laughter comes to a gasping halt, her intense gaze settling on him, lips curling into a smile that Derek knows well and has never particularly liked. "Oh."

 

"Don't 'oh' me. Why did you keep on sending him to my Macy's? My department?" He's pretty sure he knows the answer, but he asks anyway.

 

The way she shakes her head, combined with the smile, makes Derek go back to thoughts of punching her. "Oh no way," she murmurs, wholly amused. That kind of amusement that Derek hates because it's at the expense of other people. As per the usual, him. "I'm not touching this one."

 

Glaring across at her doesn't seem to ruffle her feathers, not that his glares ever have, so he settles with crossing his arms across his chest and glaring out the window so he doesn't have to watch her smug smile and wonder what the hell is going on.

 

The moment they get to the party, Laura peals off from him and wanders away into the crowd. Every single time she drags him along with her this happens, and every single time he wonders why he agrees to go to these things when all that ever happens is that he ends up wandering around, alone, hating life and drinking in the hopes that it will make him hate people less and make the evening more bearable.

 

It never does.

 

Tonight he gets started early, heading straight to one of the floating waiters and grabbing a glass of champagne, pausing, for half a second, before deciding that double fisting at a Saunders and Saunders party is, unfortunately, completely inappropriate and, despicably, he actually cares about his sister's reputation. Flute in hand, he makes his way along the outskirts, heading toward the far corner where he'll be able to stand and be, for the most part, hidden from the crowd.

 

Inevitably someone will recognize him, as Laura's brother or an author or from another party where they recognized him as one of those things first, and he'll have someone to talk to them. Regretfully.

 

Halfway to his designated corner he hears a familiar peal of laughter break out and turns to see Stiles, who is somehow managing to pull off a white suit and dark crimson collared shirt that nearly matches his own. He's talking to a bombshell of a red-head and her boyfriend, who has his arm around her possessively and looks like he's going to have an aneurism or punch Stiles in the throat so much so that Derek is actually a little nervous.

 

Stiles' eyes flicker from the pair, dart around the party in a spastic way Derek has noticed his eyes do when he's left alone at the counter, and then land on him. He jolts, smile dimming for a second as his eyes widen in surprise, and then comes back full force. With a quick word to the couple he's disengaging from them and slipping through the crowd with surprising ease, no doubt born from practice on New York's sidewalks.

 

"Derek!"

 

Despite all the times Stiles has greeted him, Derek's still not used to hearing his name like that, a shock of excited pleasure, someone genuinely happy to see him, like they missed him.

 

"Dude, what are you doing here?" As he asks his eyes roam, not the room, but Derek, taking more time than they do when they flutter over the room, and Derek finds himself feeling a bit smug and satisfied. It also gives him a chance to reciprocate without Stiles noticing. He's never met anyone who could actually pull off a white suit in a non-ironic way.

 

"My sister works here," he says finally, when Stiles eyes have finally come back to his.

 

Stiles' brow furrows. "Sister? Wait, who's your sister? I know actually, like, a ridiculous number of people here."

 

Derek can't help but ask, "What do you do?" because he's genuinely curious.

 

"Pft, just, like, I'm a personal assistant. Running errands and all of that. I'm hoping to actually work my way into doing actual marketing and all that, but, you know, have to start somewhere. Beside, even though the hours are kind of hellish, and so is my boss, I'm super lucky to be working for her, she's, like, the star of Saunders and Saunders."

 

Derek stares. This is not his life. No, of course this would be his life. "Laura Hale?"

 

Stiles quirks and eyebrow. "Yeah, actually. How did you- Well, I guess you must know some people here, so it's not a surprise. But, like, does your sist..." his sentence trails off as his eyes slowly start to widen. "Oh my God. Fuck." He mutters, throwing his arms into the air, and Derek notes that it's a good thing Stiles' wine glass is empty. "Fuck my life. Laura Hale is your sister, isn't she?" With a sigh, Stiles settles, wine-glass bearing hand dropping to his side while the other goes up and covers his eyes.

 

A steady flush is working it's way up his neck and Derek is... Derek is, while very confused, finding it endearing and, possibly, wondering if that's just an embarrassed flush, or if Stiles flushes that way while doing other things as well.

 

"Okay, so, um," Stiles stutters, hand sliding down and away from his face like molasses. Unwilling and a little painful. "You're either a really good actor, or your sister has not put the dots together yet, in which case, I need to fix this fast, before I straight up die of the embarrassment to come."

 

"Stiles." The name grinds out of him, sounding angry and making Stiles go completely still, staring at him. He's not angry though. "I have no clue what you're talking about."

 

Stiles slumps a little in what Derek assumes is relief, and then flushes deeper pink and turns his attention just to the left of Derek's face when he says, "So, I don't know if you've noticed, but I've been, like, flirting with you since day one, with the dress."

 

"I... I guess," Derek acknowledges. If that's Stiles flirting, it's not very blatant, but he thinks he actually likes that.

 

"And when I come back from buy things-" Stiles rubs the back of his neck. "Okay, I don't know how your sister has not told you this, because, from her point of view, these are, like, hilarious work stories. But I shamelessly talk about you. Like, all the time. There is no way your sister couldn't have realized. I mean, how many other Derek’s work at Macy's!"

 

He's not sure what he was expecting, but this definitely wasn't it.

 

"Anyway, I guess the point is, I, er... like you. Like, you know, like-like." The words stumble out of Stiles like lopsided tires rolling down a hill, and his eyes just as hesitantly drag back to meet Derek's. His smile has lost a few shades of brilliance and he's looking hesitant and nervous in a way Derek's never seen him before, so used to the jittery confidence of Macy's shopper Stiles.

 

"So..." Stiles rolls back on his feet, rocking a little, eyes darting away from Derek and out toward the room, though most of the action is actually behind him, there's only a wall behind Derek. According to Stiles' eyes though, it's a damn interesting wall. "This is possibly the most embarrassing thing that's happened to me in a long time."

 

A smile pulls at Derek's lips as he watches Stiles squirm, which is something he wouldn't mind watching some more, but it seems a little cruel. Instead he reaches forward and wrap his fingers around one of Stiles' wrists.

 

At the contact, Stiles' attention is instantly back on him again. It's attention Derek likes. The steady prodding, inquisitive, engaging stare of Stiles' brown eyes. He likes Stiles' presence, and his voice, the way he says Derek's name and his laugh. He knows Stiles has a dad who's in town visiting, and that Stiles is stuck at this party despite that, and that he has a mom that he hasn't talked about, that he works for Laura and hates her a little bit, just like Derek does.

 

Derek likes what he knows about Stiles, and he likes that there's still more left to know. More that he wants to know.

 

So he pulls, and Stiles stumbles forward, barely lifts his free hand in time to catch himself from crashing into Derek's chest, and then leans in and presses his mouth to Stiles' warm, winter-chapped lips in a quick, chaste kiss. When he pulls back he's smiling, a smile that grows until he's showing teeth, because Stiles looks confused and then surprised and pleased and content and is pressing forward for another.

 

"Stilinski!"

 

Stiles' muscles jolt and he leaps backward so fast Derek isn't sure what happened until he catches sight of Laura striding toward them, red lips split into a dangerous grin.

 

"Yes." Stiles' voice cracks, he coughs, and continues. "Laura. Yes. You need something?"

 

Sliding up next to him, Laura in her satin red dress, Stiles in his white tux, they look dangerously good together and Derek feels himself frown. Laura catches it and laughs, winding an arm around Stiles' waist. "Only to tell you that I am proud of how you’re utterly creepy shopping stalking paid off."

 

Stiles makes a sound of protest, attempts to pull away, fails. "I didn't- I didn't shopping stalk anybody!" His attention slides from Laura to Derek. "I didn't."

 

Maybe because he likes that embarrassed flush a little too much, Derek just raises an eyebrow.

 

He's rewarded accordingly.

 

"Okay. Maybe- maybe a little. But it wasn't creepy."

 

She laughs, leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek in a way that makes Derek want to grab Stiles and lick him clean, and pulls away. "Whatever you say." Turning to Derek, she pulls him in a quick hug and waits until they're mostly separated and Stiles can hear her to say, "Make sure he can at least walk in the mornings, alright?"

 

Derek's had a lifetime to get used to Laura. He glares at her, before slipping his attention to Stiles and letting his lips curve into a slow smirk. "I won't make any promises."

 

With a small noise and a not so subtle shift to loosen his pants, Stiles goes red from exposed collar bones to the roots of his hair.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](rlnerdgirl.tumblr.com) for quick and easy access to updates on my writing.


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